


gorgeous

by cellobear



Category: Free!
Genre: Body Worship, Dirty Talk, Fluff, Free! Kink Meme, M/M, Oral Sex, sort of, sousuke is destroying me somebody send help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 05:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2336573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellobear/pseuds/cellobear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Free! Kink Meme. Makoto thinks he's pretty average looking, and Sousuke takes a good long while to let him know just how beautiful he really is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	gorgeous

**Author's Note:**

> This entire account is just turning into "Sousuke has sex with people" and I'm kind of sorry about it but not really?
> 
> Written for [this prompt](http://iwatobiswimclub.dreamwidth.org/2701.html?thread=3593357#cmt3593357).

It starts with a quiet little comment while they’re watching TV late one night in the apartment. They don’t have the largest home, but they definitely make the most of it in enjoying the space and spending time together. Sousuke always takes perch on the right side of the couch, long legs stretching out on the carpet in front of them, and Makoto typically cozies up on the left side, facing Sousuke so he can put his feet in his lap. Sometimes they talk, sometimes Sousuke pokes his feet and he laughs and tells him to quit it, but they’re both exhausted tonight and just content to spend some quality time with one another. Sousuke’s got the TV flipped to some reality show, the volume on low, and he’s barely paying attention, which is why he almost misses it when Makoto speaks up during a commercial.

It’s for some boy band, or clothing line, or dumb new drama, and Makoto probably doesn’t even realize he says it as he slumps lower against the arm of the couch, tired out of his mind and blinking blearily behind his glasses. He gives this quiet little half chuckle and mumbles, “Man, don’t I wish I could look like that,” as some pretty boy with his bangs pulled down over one eye woos some high school girl with his tight pants and a cheesy one liner.

Sousuke hums, mostly out of grogginess than actually agreeing, and his thumb swipes gently over the skin of Makoto’s ankle once, twice, before he looks at the stupid actors on TV again and figures out that, _wait, something isn’t clicking here_. “Wait, what?” he asks, which is enough to make Makoto tear his eyes from the television – he hadn’t been expecting an actual conversation, is all. “You wanna look like some… some weird manga fantasy guy? And, I mean, look at him, he’s wearing, like, _four_ belts, who needs that many belts?”

“I… I _guess_.” Makoto concedes, shrugging with only one shoulder. He glances back at the TV, where the belt-obsessed boy is now staring soulfully out at the ocean. “Aren’t actors like him designed to look perfect anyway? Who doesn’t wish they could look all gorgeous and amazing all the time?” He laughs a little. “It’s just wishful thinking, mostly.”

“You don’t think you look gorgeous and amazing all the time?” Sousuke asks, and it’s darker than he means it to sound, because that’s kind of a schmaltzy thing to say to your boyfriend on a Thursday night when you just ate pizza about an hour ago and still haven’t taken out the garbage. “What does that guy have that you don’t?”

“Probably a professional makeup artist and hair stylist, for starters.” Makoto says lightly, briskly running a hand through his mop of brown hair, and Sousuke honestly, truly thinks it’s the cutest thing, how sleepy he looks with his hair sticking up and his glasses and his feet still in Sousuke’s lap, but he’s staring at the TV as if he’s looking into some _ideal_ , some physical form that he should aspire to and be more like. Makoto’s not self-loathing by any means, but he sees himself as painfully _average_.

It’s times like these that Sousuke realizes that, when he looks at Makoto, he sees the center of the universe. He looks at the TV one more time, glances at that ideal that Makoto seems so fixated with, and he feels vaguely nauseous. So he moves.

“Hey, Sousuke, what are you –” Makoto begins to protest as his feet fall out of Sousuke’s lap and the dark-haired boy twists to face him, to brace his hand on the back of the couch and hover over Makoto’s slumped form, sharp-eyed and quiet. He grabs the remote and mutes the TV without even looking away, completely focused. “What’s with all this energy all of a sudden?”

Sousuke deigns not to answer, chooses instead to lean down and press his lips gently, innocently, against his boyfriend’s, lets their lips slide together without intent for a moment or two. Makoto’s breath hitches and his hand reaches up to weakly grab at the fabric of Sousuke’s shirt, soft and thin against his fingers. When Sousuke pulls away, he looks no less determined.

“I find it hard to believe that you can look at yourself,” Sousuke starts quietly, his hands traveling down slowly over the panes of Makoto’s chest, sweeping over the muscles on his abdomen and around his hips, grasping the hem of his night shirt loosely as he speaks, “and not see one of the most gorgeous men on the face of the earth.”

Makoto blushes and laughs nervously. “Sousuke, c’mon.” He leans up and pecks his boyfriend quickly, but that doesn’t seem to placate this sudden desire in Sousuke, this abrupt need to show Makoto just how beautiful he really is. “I was only joking. I appreciate the compliment, but don’t you think that’s laying it on a little thick?”

“Not at all.”

Makoto’s smile disappears slowly and he swallows hard. His eyes flit down to where Sousuke’s hands are still playing at the hem of his shirt, and he replies with a quiet, “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Sousuke says, and his fingers start to skirt softly up the smooth skin of Makoto’s lower abdomen, dancing in slow circles and figure eights against the dips and grooves he finds there, and Makoto begins to squirm against the couch. “I could tell you all the things I think about you during the day, when I watch you make breakfast, or kiss you goodbye before work, or listen to you talk about your day in bed, all the things I think about you and I wouldn’t think that I’m laying it on too thick.”

“Is that right?” Makoto breathes. Sousuke leans down to kiss him again, this time with more suggestion, his tongue slipping into Makoto’s mouth and licking into the heat there, and Makoto whimpers against the sudden sensation, his own hands moving down to grasp at Sousuke’s sides. The kiss is brief, though, and Makoto’s face is red with embarrassment and with excitement when they separate. He pants and says, “Like what?”

He lifts his back a little bit off the couch so that Sousuke can slip his shirt over his head, and it gets tossed to the floor without a thought in the world. Makoto’s been naked with Sousuke before an almost unthinkable amount of times, doing a host of different things that he is varyingly proud of doing, but for whatever reason, _now_ is when he starts to feel self-conscious, like Sousuke’s eyes are raking over him and scrutinizing him and taking in every last detail and flaw and memorizing every individual part that makes up his skin, his body. He turns his head and stares at the lamp in the corner of the room to try and distract himself, which turns out to be a mistake when Sousuke leans down and breathes against the sensitive patch of skin behind his ear.

“Well,” Sousuke says quietly and he presses his tongue against Makoto’s neck, licking a long stripe down the side until he reaches the jut of Makoto’s collarbone, and the brown-haired boy whines quietly. “When you wake up, you can’t speak clearly for at least an hour. All you do is mumble and smile at me and it takes everything I have not to keep you in bed all morning until you wake up completely.” He plants his mouth underneath Makoto’s jawline and begins sucking the skin there, sweeping his tongue in circles in a way that drives Makoto mad. He starts moving his way down Makoto’s neck, leaving a trail of dark red marks as he goes, sucking each individual brand slowly and tantalizingly until Makoto’s mind is hazy and unclear.

Sousuke kisses the underside of Makoto’s jaw before moving downward, lightly scraping his teeth across the firm line of Makoto’s collar, and Makoto’s moan is quiet, breathy. “And you sing in the shower, really quietly. I don’t think you actually realize that you’re doing it, but you hum these little tunes and they bounce off the bathroom walls and sometimes I just lay in bed and listen to it.” He can see Makoto’s blush begin to travel down the strong muscles of his neck now, and Makoto’s hands grasp at his biceps.

“You… you’re going so… slow…” It’s not so much of a complaint as it is an observation, and by the tone of his voice, Makoto sounds completely fine with the pace Sousuke has set, pressing his lips against every inch of Makoto’s chest and neck, gently biting here and there to create those beautiful red marks that are blooming across Makoto’s skin like watercolors.

Sousuke hums contentedly. “I’m taking my time. I think you need to learn to be a bit more _patient_.” He reaches down and cups his hand between Makoto’s legs, feels the hard line of his cock, swelling as Sousuke moves further down his boyfriend’s torso. Makoto’s moan is low and guttural, and his hips rock up desperately, betraying his need, but Sousuke brings his hand back to where it was before, ghosting over the skin of Makoto’s hips teasingly. The whimper that tears from Makoto’s throat is _delicious_. “So _needy_.” He leans up and kisses Makoto slowly, then breathes, “Do you know how _easy_ it would be to take you right now?” He runs his hands down the strong muscles of Makoto’s thighs. “I could just lift your legs up, you know. I’d push into you nice and slow and I’d fuck you so hard, you wouldn’t be able to walk in the morning.” He groans, mostly for show, into Makoto’s ear, a growling sound from deep in his throat, and Makoto shudders _hard_. “You’d be so _tight_ , I bet. But,” he lifts himself away from Makoto’s ear, and the boy below him looks dazed, his face and neck flushed a deep red and a very obvious tent in the front of his sweatpants, “there’s always next time for that, isn’t there?”

“You’re _evil_.” Makoto groans, throwing his head back against the couch’s armrest. Sousuke chuckles and brings his hands to Makoto’s face, slips off his glasses and gently folds them on the side table. “You’re literally evil.”

“And you’re still the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.” Sousuke says, bringing his mouth back to Makoto’s chest to resume his work. “God, you should see yourself right now. You look so _eager_.” He runs his tongue slowly around the sensitive skin of Makoto’s nipple, sucks on it and lets it harden, and the whining sounds Makoto is making are making his head spin. “You know, there’s this other thing you do, this really cute thing – let me see your hand for a second.” Makoto, without thinking, offers his hand over to Sousuke and groans long and low when Sousuke sucks two of Makoto’s fingers into his mouth, running his tongue over the digits slowly, wetting them with his saliva. He pulls them out of his mouth after a second or two, gives the pad of each an extra swipe of his tongue, and guides Makoto’s hand over to his other nipple. “Go ahead.”

“Are you kidding me?” Makoto squeaks.

“Please, it’s not as if you haven’t done it before.” Sousuke says with a smirk, and Makoto clenches his teeth for a moment before rubbing slowly over the sensitive skin on his chest. Sousuke returns his tongue to the other, makes sure it’s sufficiently wet before pulling off. “Anyway, what I was saying.” He blows gently on Makoto’s nipple and the moan that pulls out of his boyfriend is etched straight into his mind so he can pull it up from memory later on. “Whenever you come home from work, the first thing you do is you find me and you kiss me. It drives me _crazy_. You don’t even think about anything else until you do that, and sometimes it’s really quick, other times I end up fucking you against the front door –”

“We should do that more often, by the way.” Makoto pants.

“Noted.” Sousuke replies. He gently grasps Makoto’s wrist and pulls it away from his nipple, red and abused and overstimulated, and he gives it the same treatment as the other one, blowing air against it while lightly scraping his nails down the skin over Makoto’s ribs with his other hand. Makoto nearly sobs.

“Can we just cut to the chase already?” Makoto groans. His breath is shallow as he speaks, and Sousuke watches him with a quirked eyebrow. “You win, I have never been this hard in my _life_ , I think I might actually die.”

But Sousuke just chuckles, grasping the elastic of Makoto’s sweatpants. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, but I’m not trying to win anything, I’m having just as much fun as you are. Lift your hips.” Makoto does as he’s told and Sousuke slips his sweatpants down until they’re around his knees, and Makoto makes a strangled sound as his cock springs free, red and hard and dripping already. It lights something up in Sousuke’s mind, but he doesn’t slow his approach even a little bit.

He leans down and starts sucking hard at Makoto’s stomach, continuing his trail of red marks over the brunette’s ribs and abs, relishing in Makoto’s whimpers and desperate noises the whole way. “You’re like something else entirely when we have sex, you know.” Sousuke mumbles, but he knows Makoto can hear him, watching him with dark eyes, pupils blown wide with need. “The noises you make, the way your body arches against mine, how I _fit_ inside of you…” He kisses the jut of Makoto’s hip and takes a second to recompose himself. “And you’re so _warm_ afterward. You have this glow to you and I can’t stop looking at you for the rest of the day.” He lowers his voice. “I get so lost in you sometimes…”

He leans up and kisses Makoto again, slow and deep and he puts all of his energy into it, pours all of his love and affection and sincerity into that one kiss and Makoto grabs on his shirt tightly, wrapped up in the feeling of being worshipped. “You’re incredible. Every part of you is incredible.” Sousuke mumbles into his mouth, rubbing his fingers against the marks littering Makoto’s skin in random patterns. “Every inch of you is just unbelievable.”

Makoto smiles and runs his hand through the jet black strands of Sousuke’s hair. “You still don’t feel like you’re laying it on too thick?”

Sousuke smiles and bumps his forehead against Makoto’s. “Never.” He moves down one more time, in the general direction of Makoto’s hips, and says, “You’re gonna want that hand in my hair again in a minute.”

“What are you – ” Makoto starts, but then Sousuke ducks his head, placing a firm hand around the base of Makoto’s erection, takes him into his mouth with one smooth, fluid motion and starts to suck, “ _Sousuke!_ ”

Both of Makoto’s hands find their way into Sousuke’s hair then, tugging hard at the strands, the slight stinging sensation in his scalp making Sousuke moan around Makoto’s cock. The vibrations pierce right through Makoto and his mouth falls open silently, completely lost in the feeling of Sousuke’s mouth on him. Makoto’s cock is heavy and hot in Sousuke’s mouth, and it feels _thick_ , a satisfying sensation that Sousuke didn’t know he needed until now, and he takes this part just as slowly as the last, bobbing his head and sucking at Makoto to drag out his orgasm as long as he can.

Makoto’s hips are stuttering against the couch as he tries not to move them, tamping down his urges instead of focusing solely on the sensation, and Sousuke slides his mouth off his boyfriend (which earns him a very frustrated but still very aroused groan) to speak. “Go ahead and move your hips, I don’t mind.”

Makoto somehow blushes even harder. “But you’ll –”

“No, I won’t.” Sousuke tells him with a smile, and doesn’t even give Makoto the opportunity to reply before he’s on him again, running his tongue over Makoto’s slit as an added invitation. The brunette hesitates, throwing the back of one hand over his mouth in embarrassment, but after one hard suck to the head of his cock he groans and throws his head back, moving his hips in small little thrusts into the heat of Sousuke’s mouth. Sousuke lets Makoto do the moving and just keeps sucking and licking at what he’s given, keeping his eyes on Makoto’s face the entire time, enraptured by his expressions and the noises he’s letting fall out of his mouth.

It only takes him a few more thrusts, having been completely hard and aching for release for a while, but eventually Sousuke’s tongue runs over his cock in _just_ the right way, slides up the entire underside of the shaft against the vein and ends up pressed firmly against the head, that Makoto comes with a shout, hips losing their rhythm as he releases into Sousuke’s mouth. Sousuke works his hand against the base and sucks Makoto through the last few pulses of his orgasm, swallows Makoto’s come without even a second of hesitation, and when Makoto seems to have stopped shaking and has calmed down against the cushions of the couch, he brings Makoto’s soft cock out of his mouth, giving the head one last hard suck mostly to revel in the hard full-body twitch it gives Makoto, overstimulated and wrecked.

Sousuke wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and straightens out on his knees to look down at his handiwork. Makoto’s sweating and his stomach rises and falls as he tries to catch his breath, a smattering of pink marks on his abdomen leading up to darker red ones on his chest and neck, and his cock is lying soft against his stomach. Makoto looks at him with glazed eyes, his lips red and moist, and Sousuke can honestly say that he’s never seen anything quite as gorgeous.

Makoto grins lopsidedly. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Is that an invitation?” Sousuke asks bluntly.

Makoto sits up, leaning back on his hands, absolutely shameless in presenting his still naked body to Sousuke like a present to be ripped open. Sousuke’s eyes trail over the hickeys that Makoto is practically covered with, the light pink scratches on his ribs, his still-hard nipples, and there’s something very proud and very aggressive in him that roars _I did that_. “You really like what you see, don’t you?” Makoto asks him, his smile loving in that way that only Makoto’s smile can be after he’s come hard enough to completely incapacitate lesser men. He glances down at Sousuke’s handiwork across his torso, and he chuckles. “I guess it’s turtlenecks for the rest of the week.” He sounds oddly happy when he says it.

“I might have gotten a little carried away.” Sousuke admits quietly. He rubs a thumb over the side of Makoto’s neck, against one of the darker marks, and Makoto hums, tilting his head to give Sousuke better access. “Sorry about that.”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.” Makoto tells him. “You were definitely focused. You completely neglected yourself.” Sousuke furrows his brow and looks down, and it’s only then that he realizes the very obvious bulge in the front of his jeans, and the way Makoto is looking at it is mischievous in the most exciting way possible.

He smirks up at Sousuke as he begins to undo his belt, and says, “My turn.”


End file.
